


Wake

by anomalous_species_of_terror



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bromance, Gen, Not Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalous_species_of_terror/pseuds/anomalous_species_of_terror
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cost of sealing Hell wasn’t unexpected, but it’s still more than Sam is willing to pay. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to have choice in the matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake

**Author's Note:**

> Reference to Season 3 Episode 8, “A Very Supernatural Christmas”.  
> I know the whole “sealing-the-Gates-of-Hell” plotline has already been way overused, but I just had to get this out. I’m sorry in advance. Still, if you managed to make it through this crap, please drop me a message. I need feedback.

“It’ll all be better when you wake up. You’ll see. I promise.”

Young Dean to Young Sam, 3x08

They did it.

Hell is closed. Every demon is locked away for eternity, and that’s not going to change this time. It took everything they had, but they made sure of it. There is no way out.

The worst part was going back to the once again fiery abyss – Crowley had tired of the never-ending line – to seal the deal. His previous time had been served alone in the Pit with Michael and Lucifer, but there were demons that recognized Dean. That had made it all the more difficult to do the job they came for. How they made it out alive, Sam will never know.

As they stagger away from the small mountain, there is a blinding flash, and then it’s done. Despite everything, Sam allows himself a smile as the light fades and the area returns to black. It only lasts a moment, though, as his brother once again inhales a rasping and undoubtedly painful breath. That returns Sam to the present, and he grips Dean a little tighter. Arm still wrapped around the shorter man, he begins the ambitious endeavor of reaching the car.

As soon as the beloved Impala is in front of them (a trek that took longer than it should have), Sam gently lowers Dean to the ground beside her. Dean instinctively leans against the cool side of the vehicle as Sam drops down next to him.

It’s now that Sam takes stock of his injuries. Some broken bones, a few gashes, a head trauma that pounds in his skull and the burns that are to be expected, coming from Hell. Not as bad as he expected. He looks over.

Dean is worse than he thought.

Blood is seeping from his torso, legs, neck and the back of his head, as well as dripping down the side of his face. Everywhere from his collarbone to his stomach is bruised – at least, where the skin remains. Shirt and flesh alike are shredded, and it looks like the work of Hellhounds. Burns are everywhere, and his lips are tinged red. His breaths have turned from a rasp to an unsteady rattle, and his eyelids are pressed together.

“Dean,” Sam starts, louder than necessary, but he still isn’t sure that his brother hears him. The older man’s hand fists in the grass, and a choked noise escapes his mouth.

It sounds like dying.

Sam wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close the way Dean did when they were little and Sam had nightmares. The fading hunter seems to recognize the gesture, leaning into the contact for support.

“Dean,” he pants, “Hang in there. You’ll be fine. You’re fine.” Sam knows it’s cruel to lie, and even worse to elongate his older brother’s pain, but he needs to cling to the illusion for just a minute more. Dean doesn’t respond, but then, Sam never expected him to.

Truth is, there’s no saving him now.

Sam is fairly certain that Heaven has retreated to some further corner of the universe. No one has heard a thing from them in months, and the angels that were left seemed to agree with this theory. Cas is gone, dead once again, and God’s absence doesn’t hold promise for another resurrection. They don’t have time for a faith healer, or even a hospital, and a crossroads deal is obviously out of the question, with all the demons locked in Hell.

Sam’s list of options runs out, and he exhales heavily, that crushing weight settling on his chest as he realizes that this will be the last time Dean ever dies. He opens his mouth to speak, but devastation has stolen his voice. He quickly snaps his mouth shut and looks up at the stars with blurred vision.

“S-sam,” Dean attempts, barely audible through the blood congealing in his lungs. His speech is awarded by a hacking fit that he could hardly manage.

Sam hushes his older brother, rubbing his arm in an attempt to keep him warm. Dean doesn’t resist, but he forces his green orbs to open. The younger Winchester notices they aren’t as clear as they should be.

Dean takes as deep a breath as he can manage, as though preparing to break the silence. Sam doesn’t try to stop him, because knowing Dean, he would have continued anyway. When Dean does speak, however, he only utters two words, familiar and heartwrenching in their simplicity.

“S’ok, Sammy.”

Sam doesn’t notice until later, but this is the moment when his tears start to fall.

The exertion of talking is exhausting for the eldest, and the rattle of his lungs becomes more pronounced. He squeezes his eyes shut again, twisting his hand in Sam’s shirt as another wave of agony passes through him.

“It’s alright, Dean.” Sam’s voice is rough and low, and the words grate on his emotions. He pauses, remembering everything. All the hunting, all the sacrifice and loss and pain that they’ve endured. Every time Dean has saved Sam’s life, and all the times Sam has tried to do the same. Even in childhood, their lives were dark and messy. Dean had tried to protect him from the truth as long as he could.

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Sam grips his brother just a little tighter as the elder approaches the end. Somehow, he knows which are Dean’s last shaky breaths.

“It’s alright,” he repeats, not finding it in himself to watch the man fade. He looks ahead blankly instead. “It…”

He closes his eyes before inhaling the courage to finish his sentence. “It’ll all be better when you wake up,” he whispers into his dying brother’s ear. “I promise.”

There’s no sign of when exactly it happens. Dean doesn't fall slack in his arms – he was leaning that way anyway. There is no dramatic last exhale or final twitch, and the heat takes a long time to drain from the body. No death moan or whimper escapes his lips.

But Sam knows.

He sits there a long time, unwilling to let go. He doesn't flash back, or wonder where Dean went once his soul left, or even think of who to exact revenge upon. He just stares ahead, expression blank as before, with tears running down his face and stinging in his eyes. It’s only when the blood has dried on his hands that he forces himself to stand.

He lifts Dean’s body without trouble – perhaps the adrenaline is still pumping, but it’s more likely that he just doesn’t notice the pain. Into the passenger seat his brother goes, because Sam just doesn’t have the heart to lay him in the back. Still, it looks wrong for Dean not to be behind the wheel, and it breaks Sam’s heart all over again to see him so lifeless in the Impala. He’s never been so limp before.

Well, except for the first time Sam buried him.

He drives himself to the hospital in a daze, where he’s drugged up so they can operate. Dean is taken down to the morgue, where Sam knows exactly what they’re doing but doesn’t want to contemplate it.

When he wakes, the nurse asks for his name. He hadn’t had time to give it to them before he collapsed. He watches her, unblinking, grief the only thing reflected in his eyes, and actually tells the truth, for once.

“Sam,” he finally says, tearing his gaze away. “Sam Winchester.”

She returns a few minutes later and says, “I called your emergency contacts, sir. No one’s answering.”

“They won’t.” He’s staring blankly again, this time out the window. He hasn’t looked this haggard since the asylum. His only motion is to swallow.

“I’m the only one left.”

END


End file.
